Dead Mrs Stratton (Jumping Jenny) rs-9

by Anthony Berkeley

  "It would, in fact, not be an exaggeration to say that you took charge immediately you suspected that Mrs. Stratton was dead?"

  "Yes, in view of the experience I've had in similar circumstances, I felt justified in taking charge."

  "Quite so, Mr. Sheringham; and a very fortunate thing for Mr. Stratton, no doubt, that he had you on the premises. Now did you form any opinion when you examined Mrs. Stratton as to the length of time she had been dead?"

  "No, that would be impossible for me; I haven't the knowledge. All I can say is that I thought she must have been dead some time, an hour at least and probably more, because her hands were quite cold."

  "I understand the doctors thought she must have been dead not less than two hours, when they examined her just now. Would you agree with that?"

  "Oh, yes; but that's a matter for them, you know, not me. Mitchell's arrived, then?" Roger added to Ronald Stratton.

  "Yes; he came just after the inspector, and Chalmers brought him in to see the body at once."

  "He agrees with Chalmers' estimate of the length of time she had been dead?"

  "Yes."

  Roger nodded to the inspector to go on with his questions. It was all very informal and pleasingly unofficial; but it was all very tedious, too.

  Twenty minutes later, after the inspector had dealt with and dwelt on every conceivably relevant point and a great many irrelevant ones, Roger was allowed to escape and sent Williamson in his place. The inspector was a thorough man and obviously intended to earn his superintendent's praise for taking pains; but it was clear that no thought of anything but suicide had ever seriously entered his mind. Not a question had Roger been asked, among all that welter of questions, which might have caused him to depart from the strict truth concerning any such matters as chairs or fingerprints.

  And yet Colin Nicolson was convinced that he, Roger Sheringham of all people, had murdered Ena Stratton.

  Colin was being quite nice about it; but that he was so convinced, Roger was sure. And Roger was worried. The crime of evidence - faking had come home to roost on him with a vengeance. He cursed the self - satisfied, smug impulse which had prompted him to alter the position of that chair. That, and the fact that he was known to have been on the roof during the crucial period, gave Colin an unpleasantly strong case against him. Not that Roger was afraid that Colin would inform on him; he was quite sure that nothing of that kind would enter Colin's head. But nevertheless to be suspected so strongly of a murder which one has not committed does give one a nasty, haunted feeling. In justice to himself now, as well as in mere acceptance of a challenge, it was up to Roger to discover the real murderer.

  And Colin should jolly well help him! He went upstairs in search of Colin. Roger had always respected Colin, in rather a tolerant way. Now he found himself respecting Colin in great sincerity. One does respect a person who could land one quite easily in a singularly unpleasant prison cell. He found Williamson and sent him downstairs, now unassailably sober, to be interrogated.

  In the barroom Colin was alone, dozing in front of the fire just as Williamson had been dozing alone in the ballroom. When shaken into consciousness, the latter had informed Roger that the women had retired, worn out, to get a little sleep before the inspector wanted to see them. The time was now close on half - past four in the morning.

  With ruthless hand Roger roused Colin into complete wakefulness. "There's going to be no sleep for you this night, my lad; nor for me either. Come into the ballroom. I want to talk to you seriously."

  "Ach, let me alone, man. I told you I'd forget it" At four - thirty in the morning sleep becomes almost more important than murder.

  "Come along," said Roger sternly. Grumbling, Colin went.

  "Where are the doctors?" Roger asked, as they shut themselves in and sat down.

  "Gone, while you were downstairs. They came up for a wee nightcap and then went off. Poor chaps, they looked whacked, both of them."

  "I wonder they were able to get away so early," Roger said heartlessly.

  "They'd made their report, and the inspector said he wouldn't want them any more. They've got to see the superintendent some time today. You were a very long time downstairs, Roger. Put you through it, did they?"

  "Oh, they were quite kind," Roger said bitterly. "I told them how I'd committed the murder, and they just told me to run away and be a good boy and not do that sort of thing again."

  "Ah!" said Colin. Evidently he did not consider this a suitable topic for jest.

  "Blast you, Colin, I've got to find out who did it now. I'm not going to have you looking at me for the rest of my life as if I were a murderer. It's going to keep me up all night, and it's going to keep you up, too; so that for your infernal interference."

  "Why me?"

  "Because you're going to help me. So we'd better get down to it."

  But they did not get down to it at once. For some minutes they sat in silence, busy with their thoughts. Then Colin looked up. "You know, Roger, say what you like, this is damned interesting. It really was murder, was it? You're convinced of that?"

  "Absolutely. It must have been. The hypothetical case I put to you in the sun parlour, like a damned fool, was the real one. That chair wasn't there at all. I put it there."

  "But why? That's what I can't understand. Why?"

  Roger tried to explain why. "And have you blabbed it out to anyone else besides me?" asked Colin.

  "No," said Roger, wincing.

  "Well, what's your idea? I'll help you. Why, man, this is great stuff. I hope it wasn't wee Ronald, because I like him."

  "No," Roger said slowly. "I have an idea it wasn't wee Ronald."

  "But you have an idea it might have been someone else? Come on, Roger, out with it. This is grand."

  "Yes, I have got an idea. Do you remember what I was saying to you in the sun parlour, about a man being actuated not by a material motive but a spiritual one?"

  "Sure I do. What's in your mind?"

  "Well, I was trying out a theory on you, to see how it sounded."

  "It sounded all right to me. Or the way you put it, it did."

  "And to me too. Colin, I'm pretty sure I know who did string up Ena Stratton."

  "The dickens you do! Who?"

  "Dr. Philip Chalmers," said Roger.

  "Phil Chalmers?" Colin echoed incredulously. "Oh, come now, Roger. He's a grand fellow."

  "It's just because he's a grand fellow that I suspect him," Roger retorted. "Or partially. You see, he hasn't any other motive."

  "This is going a bit too deep for me. I don't see this at all."

  "Well, look at it this way," Roger explained with energy. "Chalmers is a very old friend of the Strattons. And he's a doctor. That means that he's in a better situation than anyone else to know exactly the position with regard to Ena Stratton: that she'd make the life of any man living with her a burden and a misery to him, and that there's no hope at all of her ever getting any better. He knows, in fact, that Mrs. Stratton ought to be behind locked doors, but that she just can't be.

  "Now Chalmers' particularly close friend among the Strattons is not Ronald, but David. And Chalmers, as you say, is a grand fellow. It's impossible that Chalmers shouldn't have been very worried and very upset by the fact that his great friend David is being led the hell of a life by a worthless woman. Obviously he must have been. You're with me so far, I suppose?"

  "Yes, I'll grant you all that. But what next?"

  "Well, briefly, that he saw an opportunity tonight of getting rid of her, and just took it."

  "Ach!"

  "Wait a minute. I said, he saw an opportunity. I don't for a moment suggest that Chalmers planned to get rid of Ena Stratton. He isn't that type at all. He couldn't plan a crime; certainly not a murder. But on the other hand he's a man of character. If the opportunity presented itself, I can quite see him seizing it. And you must remember that he'd seen enough this evening to stir him up to a considerable pitch of indignation on David's behalf. Mrs. Strat
ton did make an exhibition of herself, didn't she? And as David's friend, Chalmers was probably quite as embarrassed, altruistically, as David was on his own behalf. Perhaps a little more so. David seems to have become rather dulled to his wife's performances in public. You needn't look at me like that, Colin. It's quite conceivable."

  "Well, say it was. What was the opportunity, then? How did he do it?"

  "I imagine they must have been on the roof together. Perhaps they were leaning over the railing, and she was inflicting her remarkable introspections on him, as she seems to have done on most people this evening. She may even have been trying to get him to make love to her."

  "Ah, come; steady now, Roger. Talk sense."

  "Women have been known to do such a thing," Roger said drily. "Anyhow, let's say she goaded him just beyond that limit of endurance which we call sanity. They were somewhere near the gallows. Chalmers sees that the figure of the woman has fallen onto the roof; the straw neck wasn't strong enough to last. Instantly the idea jumps into his mind: put a woman where a woman was! He looks round. It's all perfectly safe. No one else is likely to come up; it's too cold. And once she's safely strung up, it's odds against anyone finding her for hours. Let him get out of the house on that call of his, and he's safe. She's been talking of suicide; it's bound to be put down to suicide. And then David can live a life of his own again, and half a dozen other people will be able to sleep more easily at night. And no one will regret her. It will be the best minute's work he ever did in his life."

  "By the time he'd thought all that out, she'd have been down at the bar again, lapping up more double whiskies without soda."

  "Idiot! All those things flash through his mind in ten seconds. There was no time to think, or he'd never have done it. Well, he inveigles her to the gallows, just underneath the noose. And then . . . For a strong man, just one second would do it, before she even realized what he was after or had time to scream out. Well?"

  "Well, it's a case, I suppose," Colin said judicially.

  "But not so strong as the case against me?"

  "I told you I'd forgotten that. But come now, Roger, you know well enough that's all guesswork. You haven't a mite of evidence. Besides, you said 'let him get out of the house on that call of his.' But he'd gone. He wasn't here at all. We saw him go."

  "And then we went into the ballroom. All of us. Chalmers could have come up again, couldn't he?"

  "But, man, you're talking at random. He could have come up again, yes. But where's even a wee bit of evidence that he did?"

  "As a matter of fact, Colin, there is a tiny bit of evidence. I don't say that it proves Chalmers did come up again after we'd all gone into the ballroom; but it does prove that he was on the roof some time this evening. Mrs. Williamson found his pipe in the sun parlour. Ronald identified it."

  "Ach! He could have left it there any time."

  "He could, yes. And he did. That's the point. I'm not suggesting that he left it there then, and the talk with Mrs. Stratton was conducted in the sun parlour. I'm suggesting that he had left it there earlier; and when he got outside the house on the way to his call, perhaps not until he was actually in his car, he felt for his pipe in the way one does and remembered that he had left it there. So he ran up for it. We know the front door was left unlatched all the evening, so there was no difficulty in getting in again. And in the sun parlour he found not only his pipe, but Mrs. Stratton too, sulking. Perhaps they did talk there, before moving up to the main roof. Anyhow, Mrs. Stratton was intense enough to make him forget his pipe all over again.

  "But considering it was Mrs. Stratton," Roger added shrewdly, "I shouldn't be surprised if she wasn't in the sun parlour at all. It would have been far more typical for her to have been out on the cold, cold roof, pretending to commit suicide by pneumonia, and praying for someone to come up and catch her at it, for a little more glorification."

  "Now you're at your guesswork again."

  "Oh, admittedly. But if you're going to call every theory guesswork, even when I can argue it from observed facts and reasonable inferences, we're not going to get much further."

  "No, no. I won't do that. But I would like to hear a little more evidence to support your theories. I don't deny that you've put up quite a possible case against Chalmers, but it all depends on one thing, doesn't it? And that is that he did it before he went out on that call."

  Roger considered. "Yes, that's right. The time of death shows that she must have died within half an hour at most of leaving the ballroom, and Chalmers was away an hour. Yes, if he did it, it must have been before he went."

  Colin heaved himself up in his chair, stretched and grinned. "Well, I didn't say anything before, because I didn't want to spoil your fun; but I'm afraid your case falls to the ground, Roger. I'm willing to bet you five pounds to a sixpence that Chalmers went out on that call before Mrs. Stratton ever left the ballroom at all. What do you say to that?"

  Roger's face fell. "Oh! My goodness, yes, I believe you're right, Colin. You would be, of course. Yes, I remember distinctly. She only began saying she wanted to go home after Chalmers had gone out, and that was what led up to the scene. Dash you, Colin, that seems to have scuppered it."

  "Ah!" said Colin complacently.

  "Does it, though? Wait a minute. It was only because of the time of death that I said Chalmers must have done it before he went out. Supposing the presumed time of death isn't correct. It's Chalmers' own word we've got for that, you see, and if it suited him he could have pronounced a false time of death quite easily."

  "No, you're wrong again, Roger. Mitchell supported him."

  "He did?"

  "Yes, they were talking about it up here, while you were downstairs with the inspector."

  "Oh!" Roger considered.

  "But that might have been a case of unconscious suasion, Colin," he went on eagerly. "I should think that a second doctor is always prejudiced in favour of the opinion of the one who made the examination first. Mitchell knows Chalmers is a sound man; he'd be perfectly ready to accept Chalmers' opinion, especially in a matter like this where there's a certain amount of latitude.

  "Yes, the more I think of it, the more it fits in. The point may be a small one, but Chalmers has been gently rubbing his alibi into all of us, hasn't he? I remember, now, he took the very first opportunity of mentioning to me that the ballroom scene occurred after he'd been called out. It may have been quite a natural thing to say; but it may equally have been rather gratuitous.

  "And look," Roger continued quite excitedly, "how quickly he got here after Ronald telephoned. He does live nearer than Mitchell, it's true. But why hadn't he gone to bed? He must have been home very nearly an hour - three quarters at any rate. Three quarters of an hour, at that time in the morning, and he hasn't even gone to bed. Or, apparently, undressed. Doesn't that look as if he might have been waiting for the telephone call which he knew very well would come? Obviously he wanted to get here first, before any other doctor or the police, to have a good look at the body in the light and remove any possibly suspicious or incriminating traces. Well? Isn't that all perfectly reasonable?"

  "Ach, come now, Roger." Colin shook his head. "Your case against Chalmers won't hold water and you can't twist it into doing so."

  "Perhaps you still believe I'm the man?" Roger asked unpleasantly.

  "I wouldn't be surprised. Though if you say not, I'll help you look for another. But Chalmers won't do. He won't do at all."

  "I still think he's got a lot to explain away," Roger said obstinately. "Yes, I'd very much like to ask friend Chalmers a few questions. No, it's no good shaking your head like a mantelpiece mandarin; there is a case against Chalmers. If he is the man, we can assume that he could cook the time of death to make it appear that Mrs. Stratton was dead half an hour before he got back to the house, can't we? Can't we, Colin?"

  "Yes; but wait a minute, Roger. I ..."

  "No, you wait a minute. Well, if we can assume that, there's a very big hole in his defenc
e. In that case the theory is that he came back from his visit and, instead of coming into the ballroom to the rest of us, went straight up to the sun parlour to get his pipe. Then everything else as before. He knows he's pretty safe, because not a soul has seen him go up on the roof. Well, all he's got to do then is to wait till the coast is clear, run downstairs again, and then walk up, singing loudly, and announce himself. And he could know when the coast was clear, because the roof door can't be seen from the barroom or the landing. He'd only have to slip inside it and wait. How's that?"

  "Oh, very neat, no doubt; but listen to me..."

  "No, you listen to me. Therefore, the objection you made just now has no point, and the case against Chalmers remains as strong as ever it did. Stronger, if anything. And what's more, it may be quite easy to test it. All we've got to do is to find out where that call of his came from, and then very gently and subtly get to know at what exact time Chalmers left there to come back here. Of course they may not . . ."

  "Will you listen to me, Roger!" Colin shouted. "I've just thought of something."

  "Well done, Colin," Roger said kindly.

  "It's your theory that whoever killed Mrs. Stratton held her up with one arm and pulled the noose round her neck with the other. That's right, isn't it?"

  "Certainly. For a strong man . . ."

  "Never mind about your strong man. That's how you say Chalmers did it, and he couldn't have done it any other way?"

  "Yes. Well?"

  "He couldn't, for instance, have done it without using both arms?"

  "No. What about it? - Oh . . ." said Roger, in a dying kind of voice.

  "Exactly," Colin cried, with tactless triumph. "Why, Roger, man, where were your eyes? You know as well as I do that Chalmers has a dud arm. He couldn't have held a fly with it that didn't want a noose round its neck, let alone a great strapping wench like Mrs. Stratton. Now perhaps you'll have the sense to admit that whoever did it, Chalmers couldn't? Will you?"

  "Dash you, Colin," said Roger, annoyed, "must you rub it in?"